


shower me in love

by pumpkinless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Flirting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, Shower Sex, deep Shiro thirst, gay disaster keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: Space wolf has had enough of the pining. He does something about it since Keith won't.Keith says, “Hey, buddy,” without looking up. Space wolf huffs once, the sound of dissatisfaction, and before Keith can glance at him in alarm, a cold nose touches the back of Keith’s hand.They flash out of existence.And now Keith is . . . here. And he’s suddenly very wet. And Shiro is—“Naked,” Keith whispers hollowly.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 104
Kudos: 850





	shower me in love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sugarcubeshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarcubeshiro/gifts).

First, a preface: none of this is Keith’s fault. Technically, it isn’t even Shiro’s fault.

Keith was minding his own damn business in his own damn room, fully clothed and enjoying a quiet night off away from stress and human interaction alike. The only time he gets to himself these days is spent drawing in his room, honing this new skill. It calms him. 

He doesn’t think anything of space wolf popping in. He usually finds his way back to Keith’s room every night for cuddles and to steal most of Keith’s bed while Keith pretends to grumble and shove him out. It’s their ritual. Not one to wait for an invitation, space wolf hops right up on top of the covers and settles in next to Keith without hesitation, head tilting to peek at the sketch of Shiro’s face sitting in Keith’s lap.

Deeply concentrated on his drawing, Keith says, “Hey, buddy,” without looking up. Space wolf huffs once, the sound of dissatisfaction, and before Keith can glance at him in alarm, a cold nose touches the back of Keith’s hand.

They flash out of existence.

And now Keith is . . . here. And he’s suddenly very wet. And Shiro is—

“Naked,” Keith whispers hollowly.

Space wolf flashes out of existence as quickly as he appeared, leaving Keith stranded in what he can only assume is Shiro’s shower. His private shower. Where he takes his clothes off and stands under hot falling water and covers his body in soap and—

Oh, god.

Right now, he’s staring Shiro in the eyes. Shiro looks just as shocked as Keith feels, but he’s the one with a blue loofah in one hand hovering over his super,  _ super  _ naked chest. 

Keith’s eyes drop from Shiro’s face, impossible to control. He eyes the loofah and then the soapy skin beyond that—Shiro’s wide shoulders block the spray of water from washing the suds out of his chest hair and off his pecs. Down, then, to his ripped abs and hip bones cut as sharp as knives. 

Keith’s head feels dizzy as he follows the line of hair leading down beyond Shiro’s abs. He can’t—is that really—

The loofah falls to the ground with a splat and Shiro’s hand reaches down to cover himself. Mostly cover himself. Oh, stars above, there is a lot of him to cover and his huge palm doesn’t do the best job of it. Keith is really, seriously going to die right now and it’s not going to be his fault at  _ all _ because he never would have walked in on the middle of his (hot) best friend’s shower like this. Not outside of his dreams, at least.

“Oh my god,” Keith says faintly. He slams his eyes closed because he cannot look at this—this statue of a Roman god anymore.

“K-Keith!” Shiro yells. It’s delayed reactions all around, it seems.

“Uh-huh,” Keith says. He makes the mistake of uncovering and opening his eyes which only draws his attention back to what it is exactly that Shiro is  _ not _ covering with his hand, and Keith slaps a palm over his own eyes to save himself. He has nothing left to give. “Um. I can explain.”

“Can you?” Shiro says. He doesn’t sound pissed, which is good, but he’s not exactly happy.

It’s a fair question.  _ Can  _ Keith explain why his space wolf just teleported him into Shiro’s private shower time and then ditched them faster than a Terullian quartet on midsummer’s eve?

No. No, he really can’t.

Keith wants to  _ die. _ He also wants to take a picture of Shiro just like this so he can jack off to it for the rest of his natural life because his whole body is on fire with an awful combination of embarrassment and excitement. Is it bad if he wants to look again, just a little more? It feels bad. But it also feels so, so good.

Shiro is  _ naked  _ in here.

“It’s space wolf’s fault,” Keith definitely doesn’t whimper. “I wasn’t even—I was just drawing. And he brought me here.”

“Right. Maybe you could, uh, turn the water off and get me my towel?” Shiro asks. Which, yes, that makes sense, because Shiro’s prosthetic is nowhere to be found and that means he only has one hand to (sort of) hide his dick behind. 

Keith nods on auto-pilot. Carefully, Shiro shuffles to the side so Keith can reach the controls for the water. It involves getting closer to Shiro, but that’s fine because Keith is absolutely handling himself and this situation like a champ. He’s not struggling in the least to wrap his hand around the shower handle and turn it off.

But then . . . he slips. 

Of course he does, because he is a monster who is well-coordinated and balanced at all times except now. 

Keith’s wet socks betray him as they make contact with the soap-covered loofah still sitting on the ground. Without remorse, it sends him crashing face-first into Shiro’s chest. His arms fly out to stop himself from actually faceplanting right in Shiro’s pecs, but the only thing to grab is Shiro’s wet, hard, muscular, thick chest. All adjectives necessary.

His hand slaps at the wall behind Shiro to push himself away before he can think too hard about what his mouth is close to right now.

Holy shit.

What is happening?

Their mad scramble ends with Shiro backed into the corner of the shower, Keith’s hands braced against the walls on either side of his broad shoulders. Keith is so close to so many stressful parts of Shiro’s body and he can’t close his eyes. Water cascades over him, thoroughly soaking through his hair and clothes. It’s too late to go back now.

“You have a little . . . .” Shiro says. He reaches for Keith’s cheek slowly and wipes off a long string of suds. Suds that came from Keith’s face touching Shiro’s  _ chest. _

“Thanks,” Keith whispers. 

Wait.

If Shiro’s hand just wiped soap off Keith’s face, then that means—

Keith can’t help but try for one more glance down and, yup, that’s definitely Shiro’s dick right there. Just . . . chilling, down beyond the end of a gloriously toned torso. His dick is really thick and now Keith is forever burdened with knowing that Shiro is a shower, not a grower. He hates himself so much for even thinking about it, but that’s just how his life is going tonight. There’s nothing to be done for it.

“Hey,” Shiro says. A finger taps at the underside of Keith’s chin and he jerks his head up fast in embarrassment. That wasn’t subtle of him at all; Shiro knows exactly what he was checking out down there. 

“Um,” Keith answers. His voice comes out too strangled to sound normal.

If Keith isn’t mistaken, the corner of Shiro’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile.  _ That’s  _ not normal either, right? You’re not supposed to smile about your bro checking out your dick after busting in on your private shower time. Keith knows that for sure.

And yet here’s Shiro clearly fighting back a smile.

“So what are we doing here?” Shiro asks. The grin is unmistakable and no longer a secret. “You don’t want to get me a towel?”

Keith doesn’t even remember what a towel is anymore.

“You shouldn’t—uh. You still have soap on your—on your—you. Soap.” Most of it’s gone now, washed off when Keith decided an improvised kabedon was the only way to save himself from this embarrassing situation. He quickly shoves away from the wall, away from  _ Shiro’s naked body,  _ because it seems like the right thing to do. Farther away means less likely to have a gay crisis in Shiro’s shower.

Except farther away also means easier to see Shiro naked. And Shiro is not hiding anymore in the least.

Keith swallows hard.

“What are you thinking about?” Shiro asks.

Nothing. Keith is thinking of nothing except maybe changing his name to No-Thoughts McGay because he is a gay man and having absolutely zero thoughts, sexual or otherwise, about his naked best friend shifting his weight to one foot so his hip cocks out a little. Not even Shiro raising his arm to scratch the back of his neck can sway Keith into having gay thoughts, no matter how much his bicep bulges with the movement. Nothing at all.

“I’m just . . . wondering why space wolf did this,” Keith croaks. He closes his eyes again for his own safety. 

"He's always playing pranks," Shiro offers generously.

Pranks. Right.

"Cool," Keith says. "I'm just—just gonna—”

He moves to step away, to get out of this shower and this ridiculous situation, but Shiro grabs his shoulder to stop him. Keith's whole body freezes up at the contact.

"You're soaked," Shiro says. "You'll get water all over the bathroom."

Keith gapes at him. That can't seriously be Shiro's biggest concern right now. Keith can dry the floors, hell, he'd be happy to scrub them clean on his hands and knees, as long as he gets out of this damn shower first. He can't live like this.

"But—” Keith starts to say.

But Shiro has no time for his buts. He grabs the zipper of Keith's hoodie, challenging Keith with his gaze, and he drags it down. Even with the shower pounding down around them, every tooth of the zipper coming undone sounds like thunder to Keith's ears. Shiro never loses eye contact, not even to notice that Keith isn't wearing anything under the hoodie. 

He's actually not wearing anything under his sweatpants either.

"Take it off," Shiro says quietly. Keith can hardly hear him, but he traces the shape of the words from the movement of Shiro's lips. "I'll hang it in here to dry and you can borrow some of my clothes."

Keith moves as if individual puppet strings are attached to his limbs. The hoodie hits the ground with a wet  _ plop,  _ leaving Keith somehow shirtless in Shiro's shower. 

With Shiro. 

Naked Shiro.

Keith opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. It's impossible to miss Shiro's eyes jumping down, tracing over Keith's chest just like Keith did to him earlier.

The corner of his mouth ticks up again.

Shiro hooks his index finger in the waistband of Keith's sweatpants and tugs. The motion is unmistakable and Keith shakes his head vehemently. God, no. 

"I'm not—not wearing any underwear," Keith says, his face on fire.

Shiro shrugs. "Neither am I."

Keith shakes his head again. He can't, he absolutely cannot drop his pants right now. He's half-hard from a combination of fear-induced arousal and the proximity of Shiro's naked body and he doesn't have a good explanation for that. 

This is so not his day.

"Keith, c'mon," Shiro prods. "You'll get water everywhere if you don't."

Shiro makes an excellent point. And, to be clear, Keith isn't  _ opposed  _ to taking off his pants right now—he's dedicated a lot of time to considering what it would be like to stand naked in front of Shiro and how it theoretically might happen that first time. But Shiro is just—well, he's just being practical right now about the fact that Keith is soaked to the bone and will make a mess everywhere if he doesn't just leave his clothes here. This isn't about being horny. Right? Keith is the only horny one here and he doesn’t need to ruin Shiro’s bathroom because of it.

Okay, fine then. Keith nods once to steel himself and then hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. They fall to the ground easily under their own waterlogged weight and then Keith is . . . without a stitch of clothing.

It's a damn good thing he isn't shy.

Shiro smiles at him. Slowly, Keith smiles back. Okay, it's not weird at all yet and they can be cool.

But then Shiro's gaze drops. His head dips down and Keith's body flushes hot with embarrassment and something far more arousing.

Shiro stares at his dick. He is not subtle about it which is how Keith knows he isn't dreaming. This is real and happening: Keith is naked, Shiro is naked, and they're both just staring at each other's dicks. Dicks, Keith notices with a spark of something dizzying, which are both half-hard.  _ Both. _

Keith doesn't know how it happens. One second, he's staring at Shiro's dick like it's a confounding piece of evidence for something he doesn't know how to explain, and the next, Shiro has him shoved against the shower door and is kissing him like their lives depend on it. He shows Keith no mercy, swallowing down his surprised moans, and Keith can only hang on for the ride, delirious with confused excitement as his hands slip over Shiro's back, searching for something to hold onto. 

The kiss is the ride of his life. Shiro takes no prisoners and has, apparently, never heard of pumping the brakes in a situation like this. 

Keith isn't complaining.

Shiro kisses him with force and finesse, drawing Keith into this world that is only populated by the two of them. He is—he is encompassing, his body (and dick) pressing all up against Keith and his hand spanning the top of Keith's neck and his jaw, holding him in place for a kiss that feels like drowning. 

This is Shiro. Keith is  _ kissing _ Shiro.

Somehow, that thought sparks Keith into action. No more does he stand there passively. His hands, fluttering over Shiro's back not knowing what to do, finally alight. He slides them both up Shiro's chest, over the hard slate of muscle and soft skin and hair, squeezing his pecs when he gets there. His thumb teases at Shiro's nipple and Shiro moans for him, sweetly hidden between their parted lips. 

Keith is drunk with something he can't name. Maybe this is a dream. If it is, he's had this dream before, and he knows exactly what he wants.

His hands slide down, fingers cataloging the planes of muscle beneath him. There's so much to memorize but not enough time for it: Keith does his best to commit it to his head, but by the time his fingertips reach the thick patch of hair that sits above Shiro's cock, he's forgotten everything.

"Keith," Shiro gasps into his mouth. He bites at Keith's bottom lip and Keith opens for him, tilting his head back so that Shiro can kiss him deep enough to lay claim to his soul.

There's no mistaking it. Shiro's cock is hard and heavy when Keith wraps a hand around the base of it. The thickness makes Keith's head dizzy. Shiro could ruin him for anyone else with this thing, and Keith would let him.

Shiro's breath goes shaky when Keith slowly drags his hand up the endless length of his cock. He feels so good in Keith's hands, solid and thick and arousing. Keith can't believe he's here, that he's doing this—that he has his lower body angled to the side so he can press his own cock against Shiro's hip, hoping for some kind of relief out of it. 

Shiro is relentless. His mouth leaves Keith's to bite at his jaw, his neck, the delicate space below his ear. Keith shudders and moans for it, his grip tightening on Shiro's cock.

He works Shiro over with both hands while he pants into the steamy air. God, of course Shiro's cock would be so big it needs two hands to get that really satisfying grip on it. The only thing Keith mourns is that he can't watch, can't admire and lust over how the dark head of Shiro's cock peeks out from the circle of Keith's hand, but,  _ oh,  _ he can imagine. 

What would it taste like? What would it feel like to drop to his knees and keep touching Shiro just like this until he came into Keith's open, waiting mouth?

Heavenly, he thinks. It would feel heavenly.

But Shiro, sadly, doesn't give him that room to maneuver and Keith won't complain about the chance to kiss Shiro deep and filthy like this. Shiro's fingers knead at the muscle of Keith's shoulder like he doesn't know what to do with himself, his whole body trapping Keith in against the glass door. 

Shiro sobs out a moan and Keith can't regret anything.

He tries to drag Shiro back into a kiss, but Shiro seems to have lost all sense of finesse. It's actually really hot: his brows draw together, his eyes close, his mouth stays open to pant out heavy breaths. He looks beautiful when he's overwhelmed by pleasure and Keith wants to push him over the edge. He tightens his grip and speeds up his motion—Shiro gives him a full-throated groan for his troubles.

Keith leans in, bites at the side of Shiro's neck. He tastes like water and he shudders like he doesn't know where to direct pleasure like this. Keith digs his teeth in just to make Shiro's hips jump, and then he sucks hard on the skin because it feels so natural right in that moment. Something feral inside him demands he leave a bruise, a mark, a reminder—to prove that this was real and this happened. To claim Shiro as his own, even if this moment is all he gets.

Shiro comes with what can only be described as a sob. He bites out Keith's name as his whole body shakes. Come runs down over Keith's fingers, slicking his grip, and he moans in return.

He pulls Shiro through the aftershocks, taking all his weight as Shiro slumps against him.

Keith doesn't stop touching until Shiro gasps out, "Too much," against his neck and then bites Keith to ground himself again.

Holy shit.

Shiro's chest heaves with his breath and he nuzzles into the crook of Keith's neck. Honestly, Keith can't believe himself—can't believe what he just did. He ruined himself for this; he's never going to be able to forget the weight of Shiro's cock in his hand or the sound of his cries when he came underneath Keith's touch. Keith is so fucked and all he wants to do, the  _ only  _ thing he can think about, is how badly he needs to get off.

He tries to cant his hips away from Shiro, to find relief in not having his dick pressed against the hottest set of abs the universe has ever seen, but Shiro doesn't let him. As soon as Keith's weight shifts, Shiro follows, rolling his hips lazily into Keith's cock.

The meaning is impossible to mistake.

"Shiro?" Keith whispers. 

Shiro shudders out a long sigh. His hand leaves Keith's body and fumbles for the controls to the shower. Silence descends when the water stops.

"Holy shit," Shiro says. He kisses Keith's neck, and then again, and his mouth trails up to Keith's mouth so they can dive headfirst into a deep, sloppy mess of a kiss. 

Keith moans into his mouth. He's too weak to do anything else.

"Will you stay the night?” Shiro murmurs against his mouth. "I really—really, god, wanna blow you."

Keith swallows hard. His mind is racing and he doesn't know what to think. "You're, uh, not gonna need the whole night for that," he responds, voice hoarse. He feels like a gust of wind could blow at him the right way and Keith would come on the spot.

Shiro leans their foreheads together and his thumb strokes at Keith's cheek. It's so tender it hurts.

"I've been waiting a long time for you," Shiro confesses. His voice wavers like he's lacking courage. "Maybe we could do some other things, too." 

"Oh," Keith says. He pulls back just a bit so he can assess Shiro's expression: he's hopeful and apprehensive, and that combination gives Keith butterflies in his belly completely unrelated to any feelings of arousal. "Yeah, we could—we could do some other things."

Shiro graces him with a beatific smile. Keith tilts his head up, hesitant, and he slowly leans in for a kiss.

The way Shiro meets him is sweet and cautious, like a real first kiss that doesn't come after a frantic shower hand job. Keith still doesn't know what strange, exciting plane of existence he's wandered into, but that isn't a complaint.

He can't complain about anything right now.

**Author's Note:**

> you can't stop me from making bad jokes but you can find me on twitter @[disloyalpunk](http://twitter.com/disloyalpunk)


End file.
